


I Don't Love You

by deathmarkedlove_archivist



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-29
Updated: 2007-01-29
Packaged: 2019-05-09 23:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14725443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathmarkedlove_archivist/pseuds/deathmarkedlove_archivist
Summary: Kind of a Spike dealing type thing. The first part takes place at Buffy's viewing. PG





	I Don't Love You

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: They ain't mine. Which, for their sake, is a good thing.  
> Spoiler: The Gift  
> Summary: Kind of a Spike dealing type thing. The first part takes place at Buffy's viewing.  
> Note: This was inspired by an absolutely beautiful wallpaper created by Valerie De Pever which included the sonnet I Don't Love You by Pablo Neruda. I really have to thank Valerie. I sent her this story and she said send it in. Without her wonderful comments, the story probably would have stayed on my hard drive.

As she lay in the casket before them all, the only thought that crossed his mind was she's only sleeping. That's all. Just sleeping and waiting. Waiting for her Prince Charming to come and kiss her, then she would wake and together they would ride off into the sunset. Obviously he wasn't the Prince Charming in this particular fable because he had covered her face in kisses, but still her eyes remained sealed shut. And Prince Charming wasn't Xander, the one she had once called the White Knight, and Prince Charming wasn't Giles, the one she loved as Father. After a quick scan, he didn't see anyone else worthy of the role. Which meant only one thing: he hadn't walked through the doors yet. Leave it to Prince Charming to swoop in at the last minute and save the day. His world stopped spinning, though, at one sound and one request.

"I want to see her now."

The request was made by Dawn who had been sitting numbly at his side the entire evening, her tiny cheek resting against his side, his arm wound about her keeping her close and safe. She always said she felt safe with him. She had come to him the moment he had entered the tiny chapel. No words were spoken; he merely accepted her. It felt good to be needed. Plus, the small pressure she placed on his side was a wonderful distraction. When logic tried to reason with his heart, to explain the true nature of Buffy's condition, he merely focused on Dawn. Dawn needed him to stay here, not to stand and approach Buffy and prove for himself Buffy's condition. As an added bonus, Dawn was a little girl and little girls liked fables, especially the ones with a sleeping princess and her Prince Charming.

"I want to see her now. Will you go with me?"

Panic reached in and squeezed his spinal cord, paralyzing him. "But he-" 

"No one's coming because she's dead," Dawn stated, her voice amazingly flat. She calmly stood and straightened her dress, a very pretty dark blue slip dress. She closed her eyes for a moment to gather strength, then slipped her hand into Spike's.

"Ready?"

"Are you sure you don't want to wait for . . . someone, pet?" he asked, looking around frantically for that someone *Prince Charming* to take over and fix everything.

"Spike, it will be okay."

He stepped away from her, shaking his head no. "I can't. I can't look at her. Not in a casket. Run on ahead, kitten."

She put her hands on his shoulders and forced him to meet her eyes. He had to look at her and only her. He had to focus on her and not the others in the room or the casket in the front of the room. Finally, she had his complete attention. Fear and panic radiated from him in waves. She was a fourteen year old girl comforting a hundred and twenty year old vampire. It was almost funny, except it was far too horrifying. 

"Buffy's dead." She took his hand again and led him to the casket.

There she lay. Blonde hair spilled about her in waves. Her cheeks were rosy and filled with the false life of make-up. She was a goddess and she was dead. She was nothing. She was gone forever. She was in Heaven and he would never see her again because he was a demon and he was damned and he was going to Hell. And she was brilliant. And she wouldn't smile or laugh or dance ever again. Not with him or anyone. And she would never see Dawn graduate from high school and she wouldn't see Xander and Anya's wedding or their first born because she was dead. And there was no Prince Charming. The Sleeping Princess was dead. Buffy Anne Summers was dead. 

He opened his mouth to say something, but he didn't know what to say. No magical spell could save her and no words could make his pain go away. Then, in a glint of gold, he saw the one thing that would make his life bearable again. He saw his answer. He glanced to his side. Dawn merely studied Buffy, no discernible expression on her face. She had lost so much recently, her past, her mother, and now her sister. This was horribly painful and sad, but she had learned life continued. She would have given her life for her sister, tried to in fact, but that wasn't how the game played out and life continued.

"Can I have a minute?" he asked quietly.

She nodded and backed away. He had to move quickly. This was the easy part. With vampire speed he snatched the treasure and dumped it in his pocket. He stayed a moment longer in case anyone was watching. He told Dawn he needed to step outside for a cigarette. Again she nodded. He thought he saw something in her eye, some sort of understanding beyond the call of nicotine, but again he had to move quickly. Once outside in the night air, he jogged towards the back of the chapel and leaned against the building before removing the treasure.

Spike held the chain allowing the cross to dangle in the air. It was the same cross Angel had given her when they first met. Angelus had told him the story once while they were still in the factory. He had given it to her to protect her from demons, to protect her from him. Angelus thought it was pathetically hysterical. Just another reason to hate her. After their fall out of apocalyptic proportions, she had put the cross away along with the claddaugh ring he had given her.

Spike could still remember the look of absolute shock on the Scoobies' faces when he suggested that she be buried with the cross. The look was priceless, really. But the source of the item, Angel, had been her first love, so in a way he represented her heart. The cross itself represented what she did, what she stood behind, what she fought for. Maybe not the details of the religion, but the basis of the religion: good and evil and the great battle between. The cross was her love and her strength. Now it would be Spike's.He searched his pockets for the square of rose colored cloth that had once been a part of one of Drucilla's gowns. He never knew exactly why he kept it. Now he realized it had been for a greater purpose. He shrugged out of his coat and let it drop to the ground. A few seconds later, his black button down shirt joined the coat. He picked up the cross with the cloth to protect his hand and, after a brief hesitation, pressed it against his pale chest over his dead, yet also broken heart. 

The pain was unimaginable. He heard his skin sizzle as smoke wafted up, bringing with it the acrid scent of his burning flesh. A few seconds wouldn't be long enough, though. He wanted this to scar. He wanted to carry the memory of her, the love of her, the strength of her with him through eternity. He bit his lip to keep from screaming and tasted blood. A poem ran through his mind. He couldn't remember where he had heard it or who had written it. All he did know was it was her poem. The last line became his mantra which he whispered over and over again, the words running together.

"Soclosethatwhenyoucloseyoureyes,Ifallasleep.SoclosethatwhenyoucloseyoureyesIfallasleep."

Over and over again for if he lost his concentration, he would lose his sanity. He was sure he was on fire. He was sure if he opened his eyes he would look down and see flames. But if he opened his eyes, he would lose his sanity.

"Soclosethatwhenyoucloseyoureyes,Ifallasleep."

The pain became too much. Darkness was creeping up on him. A few seconds longer. Just a few seconds longer. But no one can fight the dark. Only Buffy can fight the dark and Buffy's dead and I love you and nothing. 

Dawn was standing by waiting. She knew of his plan from the moment she saw his eyes hesitate on the gold chain as it still hung around Buffy's neck. She also knew he had to do this. He was broken and this was the only way Buffy could help him. She understood that completely. The others were different. She had given them smiles and cotton candy. She had made the darkest moments shine and glitter for them and that was what they remembered. They didn't see her or understand her the way Spike did. Buffy didn't allow them to. That was forbidden territory. Dawn didn't even try to fool herself into believing she knew Buffy as well Spike knew her. He had seen into that forbidden territory and loved her in a way no one else had been able to and she had loved him in return. Maybe she hadn't shared with him kisses and hugs and nights in each other's arms, but she had loved him. So with her death, memories and tears hadn't been enough for him. He had to have pain, physical pain that equaled his emotional pain. Not just any pain, though. Slicing off a hand wouldn't have done the trick. The pain had to be a part of her.

She watched and she waited and she caught him as he fell. Unconscious, he trembled in her arms. She laid the cross aside and pulled him closer into her arms. Unfortunately the back of the chapel wasn't lit so she couldn't see how bad the wound was, but she knew it was bad. She also knew the others couldn't know about this. They wouldn't understand. Wounds don't glitter and shine.Then someone handed her a bottle of peroxide and a clean strip of gauze. She looked up into the patient eyes of Anya who was smiling softly, but sadly.

"I do not know if vampires can catch infections, but you should clean it," she explained. She held up a small flashlight and wrinkled her nose. "It looks quite bad and icky."

"It'll heal," Dawn said simply and began dabbing at the wound with the gauze. 

"I also have bandages and tape." She held up her purse which basically contained a First Aid kit. For those in the Scooby Gang, First Aid kits often came in handy more than spare tubes of lipstick.

"Do the others know?"

"No. Grief confuses me. If this is supposed to be about Buffy, then why is everyone focused on themselves?"

"It's just how most people deal. Emotions aren't supposed to be understood. They can't be. They just exist. They're just there. Don't tell them about what he did. They wouldn't get it."

Anya knelt down beside them and touched his hair. The trembling had stopped.

"I get it. If you'd like, I can take the necklace back to Buffy's corpse."

"Thanks, Anya."

She placed the bandages, tape and flashlight close to Dawn where she could reach it, then headed back inside.

Spike didn't wake until Dawn taped on the bandages. In confusion, he met her eyes. Realization sunk in and he rolled into her arms with heart wrenching sobs which wracked his entire body. Finally he cried. Buffy had fixed him. Buffy had given him the strength to accept and grieve. Dawn held him and cried her own tears. The numbness left her, at least for now. The control left her, at least for now. They comforted each other, the fourteen year old girl and the hundred and twenty year old vampire. It was almost funny, except it was far too sad.

****************************************  
  
He stood at her grave nervously. Dawn elbowed him gently, but he still couldn't open his mouth to speak. He silently read the words on the stone, then studied the words, then studied the letters that made up the words. The 'B' was angles and curves. The 'U' nothing but a curve. Anything to keep his mind distracted from whose body lay beneath the ground and his purpose here this evening. Again, another jab, this one sharper.

"Tell her," Dawn insisted.

"This is stupid, little bit. I'm not gonna bug her spirit with this mess."

"It isn't mess, Spike. She would want to know. You want to tell her."

"Bloody hell," he mumbled, knowing in the end he would give in. Truth was he did want to tell her.

"I'll be over here with Mom." Dawn stepped away knowing this was between Buffy and Spike and no one else.

He took a deep unneeded breath and began. 

"You're burned into my heart, luv," he said, his voice was very soft and sincere, completely lacking its usual arrogance. "Everyday it means something different. Some days it's your love. Some days it's your strength. Some days it's just your smile. It keeps me on the straight and narrow. Reminds me this is what you died for and what I want to die for. The soddin' chip didn't change me, luv. You did. I'm not perfect. I slip sometimes. Never so far, though, that I question myself. Your sis has helped all of us. You'd be right proud of her. She keeps us going. Which is the other reason I'm here. Bloody hell," he mumbled again and closed his eyes for a moment. "Feel right foolish, I do. See, I heard this poem a while back. It summed up the way I felt about you like I had written it. I wanted to give you the poem or something, but every time I tried to tell you how I felt I buggered things up so bad. Well, I made the mistake of telling the niblet and she said I needed to come here and tell you." He cleared his throat and knelt down. "Here goes.

I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz  
Or arrow of carnations that propagate fire;  
I love you as certain dark things are loved.  
Secretly, between the shadow and the soul.  
I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries  
Hidden within itself the light of those flowers.  
And thanks to your love, darkly in my body  
Lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.  
I love you without knowing how, or when, or where.  
I love you straightforwardly without complexities or pride.  
I love you because I know no other way,  
But this, in which there is no I or you,  
So close that your hand on my chest, is my hand.  
So close that when you close your eyes, I fall asleep."

He quieted for a moment and smiled, even as a tear slipped down his cheek. He kissed his fingertips and touched her name.

"Always, luv."

Dawn was sitting Indian style on Joyce's grave and making a necklace out of dandelions. She smiled at him and stood, brushing the grass from her jeans. She was so beautiful and so strong. Her eyes were filled with the innocent potential contained within her spirit. She was a Summers. She might falter someday, but she would never fall. He held out his hand and she took it.

"Let's go home, kitten."


End file.
